Category Archives: Disease and dying

It’s time.

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This morning our pastor preached from the book of Ecclesiastes. He mentioned its reputation for being the most negative book in the Bible, partly due to multiple uses of the word “meaningless” in reference to life.

But there are a few bright spots, one of which is in chapter 3. Back in the 1960’s, a group called The Byrds sang a song written by Pete Seeger called “Turn, Turn, Turn.” It was a huge hit despite the lyrics coming straight from that chapter of Scripture.

Here’s verse 1:

The ByrdsTo everything, turn, turn, turn.
There is a season, turn, turn, turn.
And a time to every purpose under heaven.
A time to be born, a time to die.
A time to plant, a time to reap.
A time to kill, a time to heal.
A time to laugh, a time to weep.

The tune has three more verses, each right from the Bible, and audiences screamed with delight when The Byrds sang it. Of course most of those concert-goers didn’t know they were singing God’s Word.

I remember reading Ecclesiastes 3 as a new widow, focusing on two specific couplets: “a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance.” For anyone struggling with a life crisis or even just a big change, these words bring good news. When I was deeply grieving, they validated my tears and sadness. They also assured me I would eventually laugh again, and even dance. All of that was great comfort.

ChemoThose same couplets can be applied to Mary’s situation, as well as several others: a “time to kill and a time to heal” effectively  describes her chemo. Right now she’s in the kill-phase, taking in chemicals that are lethal to cancer cells. Eventually the killing will stop and the healing will begin, encouraging words when she’s suffering through chemotherapy.

Another couplet she has surely considered in recent weeks is, “a time to be born and a time to die.” I remember when Nate got his diagnosis. The two of us spoke about this truth in factual, non-emotional terms, and I heard Mary talk about it the same way, just after she’d heard the words pancreatic cancer.

The whole truth, however, is that all of us should be talking factually about that line of Scripture. We’ve all been born and will all die. The bottom line for believers in Christ, though, is that there’s nothing to fear. We can talk about it all we want and never get emotional because we know what comes next: a new life beyond imagining.

Eccl. 3As the Bible says, “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens.” Mary’s current season is “cancer and chemo,” but only for this time. Our hope is that the next season will be all about laughing and dancing.

“God has made everything beautiful in its time.” (Ecclesiastes 3:11)

The Great Unknown

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Medicine dropperChemo is bearing down on Mary. Tomorrow afternoon she’ll line up with other chemo patients for her first infusion, and she’s nervous. Who wouldn’t be? But chemotherapy can be surprising. Some people are only mildly affected while others are laid low. For Mary, it’s still the great unknown.

Like most of life’s question marks, though, she’ll get the answers shortly. She doesn’t necessarily want to, but she will. So many parts of life follow that pattern: questions without answers, and then like it or not, the answers come.

Take childbirth, for instance. All of us wondered how bad it would be. Was it like Hollywood depicted, with sudden onset and scream-worthy pain? Or was it just hard work we could handle without drama? Eventually most of us found out it’s somewhere between those two extremes.

Another example might be going off to college. We weren’t sure what awaited us, knowing classes would be rigorous but hoping it wouldn’t be all work and no play. For most, it fell somewhere in between.

Mary’s chemo will probably be the same, landing in the middle between extremes. Though she may experience some side effects, she and all of us will pray they won’t be debilitating.

Today while listening to an online church service, I sang along with the congregation, “When we all get to heaven, what a day of rejoicing it will be!” When Mary sings songs like these, I’m sure her perspective now is far different than it was 2 months ago. Starting chemotherapy serves as a reminder she isn’t the same person she was back then, but isn’t that true for all of us? Day to day we’re changing, and as Mary marches into her great unknown, the rest of us are marching, too, reorienting our perspectives as we go, just as she is.

Tonight Mary said, “Tomorrow we go into this new experience hour-by-hour. And if it needs to be minute-by-minute, then we’ll do it like that.” She’s feeling the presence of her co-marchers through their prayers, marveling at the strength they’re giving her. Of course that strength comes not so much from people as from God’s answers to what people are praying.

One thing Mary knows for sure about her great unknown: those answers will continue for as long as she has needs, measured out perfectly day-by-day… hour-by-hour… or, if need be, minute-by-minute.

“My health may fail, and my spirit may grow weak, but God remains the strength of my heart.” (Psalm 73:26)

Praising and Praying with Mary9 Petersons

  1. Praise for a very busy week full of blessing from family and friends
  2. Praise for heartfelt Mothers Day notes from all her children
  3. Pray for few side effects, especially no nausea
  4. Pray for the stamina needed to plan a September wedding

Cancer and Other Hard Things

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Tonight I got to do something I’ve been eagerly looking forward to for quite a while: collect daughter Linnea and 3 month old Isaac at Midway Airport. Traveling with a young baby can be problematic, but for Linnea it was like a vacation. That’s because she left the other 3 (ages 5, 4, and 2) home with daddy.

Linnea and Isaac.We have these two only for a weekend, but extended family will get to meet Isaac, and I’m thrilled for this unique time with “just them.”

Tonight’s blog is one Linnea wrote for her web site (Only One Thing) on March 4, after learning of her Aunt Mary’s cancer. Because Isaac was born with an unusual little hand, she blends the disappointment of both events in what she writes, below:

*            *            *            *

Two weeks ago my family got some bad news. Some very bad news.

I was getting ready to take Isaac for a walk when I noticed a message from my mom on my phone. My heart sank. My mom is not a phone person and she never calls me unless something really major has happened. I strapped Isaac into his baby carrier, stepped out the front door, and nervously called her back.

“It’s Mary,” my mom said, explaining that my aunt had gone to the ER when her fever spiked, which led to extensive testing. “They say she has—” My mom choked on her words and I could tell she was crying, “—pancreatic cancer.”

I burst into tears. “No!” I said. “Not pancreatic cancer. Anything but that… That can’t be right! How can that possibly be?”

See, my family knows all about pancreatic cancer. It took my dad’s life just 42 days after his diagnosis.

Naturally, we initially reacted to Mary’s diagnosis with total panic. All except for Mary, that is. At the end of that long, dreadful day at the hospital she sent my mom a text: “God is good,” it read.

Sisters with grandsWhenever I remember the last six weeks of my dad’s life, Mary always comes to mind. When my mom refused to leave my dad’s hospital bed, Mary was there at her side. When my mom “slept” night after night in a chair, Mary did too, spending those long hours on a hard stool in the corner. But when I said she must be exhausted, she chirped back, “No, I feel fine!”

Later I asked my mom if Mary was always this way—always cheerful, always sure of God’s goodness, never complaining. “No,” my mom said. “She’s grown into it over time” (Best answer ever.)

No one is perfect, including Mary. I’m sure she has her off days and her own private struggles. She wouldn’t be human if she weren’t anxious about the cancer in her body and what it will mean for her future and for her family. But in that crisis moment, when the doctors said “pancreatic cancer,” Mary chose to respond with a statement about God’s goodness.

Since Isaac’s birth, Adam and I have talked many times about the power of our perspective. Sometimes when I’m feeding Isaac, I look at his left hand and find myself praying over him: “Lord, let Isaac be a person who makes the best of things, who’s slow to complain, and doesn’t care all that much what people think. Let him be a happy kid, a thankful man. Give him an overcoming spirit.” I find it significant that Isaac’s name, which we chose before his birth, means laughter.

Isaac, 10 weeksBut the other night I said to Adam, “I’m praying Isaac will have qualities I’m not so sure I have myself.” Do I always make the best of things? Am I thankful for the body I’ve been given? Or do I put it down and wish it were different? How much time do I spend worrying what people think? When I go through something hard, am I watching to see the good God is going to bring out of it? Or am I mostly worrying?

Right after Isaac’s birth I wanted to know Mary’s thoughts about his different hand. She said it will be an important part of Isaac’s story and that God will use it for His glory. She reacted to her own cancer diagnosis the same way—without a trace of self-pity.

Mary has been through a lot of tests recently, and so far, her version of pancreatic cancer seems very different from my dad’s (thank you Lord!). We’ve all stepped back a bit from our initial panic and we are filled with hope that she will live a long time.

This postpartum stretch has been hard for me. There are days when I’m naturally filled with joy and gratitude. But there are other days too. Days when I feel like I’m fighting a battle against a dark sadness that sits at my feet and wants me to sink down into it. For some reason, it tempts me. But then I think of Mary and the kind of wife and mother she is. I think about the way she’s determined to believe God and make the best of things even in the worst circumstances. And I get up, wipe another messy face, change another diaper. I put on some music, bake cookies with the kids, and pray I’m following in Mary’s footsteps.

“The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything.” (Philippians 4:5-6)

Mary’s Prayer Requests and Praises

  1. For the decision about which hospital to use for chemo (So far, each hospital has agreed about treatment.)
  2. For safe travel tomorrow as Luke and family drive to Chicago
  3. Praise for visits and prayer time with old friends